Boots
by Dragunov888
Summary: Tomas Larsen has had trouble moving on, after losing his leg. Is it possible for a incomplete man to live a complete life?


Arendelle, December 1840

The Moose walked up to the bush, sniffing the branch as it waggled its ears. Before it had a chance to eat, a supersonic lead ball slammed into the creature, punching through its rib cage and piercing its heart. It gave out a short bellow before tumbling over, dead.

200 yards away, Tomas peered over the snow bank, getting a better look at his kill. It had been 6 months since the Great Thaw, and Tomas had been "living" the civilian life since. With a Pension and the support of his parents in Arendelle, Tomas was not too financially troubled.

It was emotional and mental problems that plagued Tomas. Serving in the Gebirgsjager was the highlight of his life, having made himself and his family so proud. It was a life he very much enjoyed. And then at the start of such of a happy, promising career, it ended. He lost his left leg. And thus could no longer soldier.

After it had sunk in, Tomas seriously considered suicide. He loved to run and be active, free like the wind. And now he hobbled everywhere on crutches, like a degenerate. He could barely stand the humiliation. A grown, young, fit man that had to ask old women to open doors for him. That was not life.

As such he exiled himself, living in the woods as much as possible. He didn't need to run or walk to hunt. He just needed a good spot, a rifle and a bit of luck. And luck was with him today. As he hobbled over on his crutches in the deep snow, he examined his kill. A fine, large moose. Enough meat to feed himself for weeks, or sell for a pretty penny, as well as plenty of fur. He dropped on his ass, and began reloading his rifle. It would be a long trip back, and wolves might come to steal his kill. So he prepared. As he finished loading, he shook his right foot, cold from the deep snow. His service boots had served him well, but they were worn out by this point. He needed a new boot.

…

Tomas thanked the tanner, as he received his payment for the hides. With his messy cargo dispatched he could finally deal with his problem. He crutched his way across the wind swept stones of the square, heading towards the cobbler. He would have new boots. Pausing in the door way as he supported himself with his armpits as his hand opened and held the door as he made his way in. Normally either the Store-keeper or fellow shoppers helped a wounded veteran, but they could hardly notice him with the spectacle going on inside.

"This is an outrage! What am I going to do with 2 boots?"

"I don't care! I only sell boots in pairs!"

It was an elderly white haired and bearded man, wearing a tattered Green uniform of Arendelle from a different era. A tough, weathered face with eyes that had seen many winters. While not the most decorated man he'd seen, the man did have a few medals of note. Most strikingly was the fact that he had no right leg.

"I fought for Arendelle against Napoleon, you stupid fool! I lost this leg for King and Country!"

"I can't sell individual boots! No-one will buy them!"

Tomas had an idea.

"Excuse me!"

The two stopped their bickering, turning to the young man. The shop-keep tried to keep a pleasant expression, but Tomas could tell he was annoyed to see another amputee that would cause trouble. With a rehearsed voice and fake smile, he greeted his new customer.

"How may I help you, Sir?"

Ignoring the Shop-keep for now, he turned to the old man.

"Excuse me sir, what's you boot size?"

"Size 9, like everyone else in the army. Why?"

Tomas smiled. Having average feet was a blessing, it really was.

"Well, I too wear size 9. And we both have a similar predicament." He cast an eye first at his stump, and then the old man's. The Old man understood.

"You want to buy a pair of boots, and split the boots and cost evenly?" The Old man broke out into a massive grin, revealing missing teeth from age. "That's the best damned news I heard all day!"

He hobbled over, stopping to clasp his arm with Tomas'. "Corporal Erik Redgar, at you service."

"Lance Corporal Tomas Larsen, pleased to meet you."

"Ah, Tomas, you're welcome in my home anytime! I feel this is the start of a great friendship!"

…

The two had made their way to a tavern, where they took to drink and stories. For hours the two talked shop, both about the military and their experiences as amputees. Erik of marching under Blucher and the Prussians, Tomas of his brief career with the Gebirgsjager. Erik told how he lost his leg right before the end, in the Battle of Ligny. Tomas nearly felt shame that he had merely lost his to wolves. Erik saw the pain.

"Wounds are wounds, young man. It doesn't matter if you face the Old Guard or Wolves, you bravely stood your ground and did you duty. _That's what counts."_

"I guess. How do you _live?_

"That's a tricky question. I was already married you see. I was convinced my Ingrid would leave me." He took a drink, holding back sorrow of his dearly departed. "But she didn't. She told me something I'll never forget. She told me the measure of a man wasn't his stature, but his character."

"You were lucky to have such a loyal wife. Me, no woman would marry this." He said sadly as he gestured at his missing leg.

"Hey! Didn't you fucking hear what I said? I was hardly a good looking man before Napoleon, but I still got the best goddamn woman in the world to marry me!" A slap to the back of the head accompanied the lecture. "Seriously boy, no woman will marry a sad sack of shit. You fought for your country. Be proud!"

"Where do I even look?"

At that moment, the door open, with a fur clad young woman coming, brushing snow off her coat as the wind howled. Tall, with a fair white face, topped with blond hair and blue eyes, she was a model Nordic woman. She shut the door, abruptly ending the noise. She turned to Erik, familiar with him.

"Goddamn it _farfar! _You told me to meet you at the cobbler, I've been looking all over for-"

The two young people's eyes met. Both with vivid blue eyes of the north, they could only stare into each other's deep blue eyes. They didn't know why, but both saw something they couldn't help but be intrigued, or drawn by.

"Ah, that's my Grand-daughter, Rota. She tolerates my old ass and helps care for me."

Rota would generally say something smart back, but she ignored the urge, attempting to be on good behavior for the mysterious young man. Erik noticed.

"It's no trouble really, I mean family is important, right? May I ask you name?"

"Tomas, Tomas Larsen." He stood to receive the woman's hand, before jumping to maintain balance. All illusions where off. His stump was plain as day. Tomas sighed, expecting the lovely girl to politely dismiss herself. Men like him made ladies, as well as most other people, uncomfortable.

To be fair, Rota was shocked, but only for a moment. If anything she fought it was romantic. So busy helping her grandfather, she lacked much time to look for suitors and she worried that her years as a caretaker would leave her an old spinster. How was learning how to take care of an amputee going to help her out?

Well, here was a handsome, polite man who happened to be missing a leg. And if he hit it off with Grandfather, and excellent judge of character in her experience, he couldn't be that bad. She smiled, and offered her hand to be kissed. "Rota Redgar."

Erik smiled as he saw the two young people hit it off so well. He'd be sure to facilitate this relationship.

_I know how to keep Tomas around for future boot shopping!_

…

Arendelle, May 1841

Tomas tossed and turned on the sheets, as he finally drifted off to sleep. As he entered that grey zone of losing consciousness, he turned to his right, to see a Wolf, snarling at him. His heart and mind raced into action, causing the young man to bolt up with a yell. Hyperventilating, he began to calm down, realizing it was merely a vision. He would have preferred to go to sleep, but his wife, Rota had other plans.

"Another vision, Tomas?"

"A wolf. Again." Tomas had nightmares ever since he lost his leg. And they all consisted of him losing his leg again, or of the wolf attack. It wasn't just his dreams either. At times if he was reminded of either event, it might spark a panic attack. For the most part they lasted half a second, but it was a troubling sensation.

"Tomas, you can talk to me. I'm your wife."

"I don't know Rota. I shouldn't feel this way. Brave men shouldn't be so damned… _scared._"

"Don't give me that bullshit. You're many things Tomas. A coward isn't one of them." She squeezed his hand, plainly stating her position of support, while giving him her famous stare. "You're a hero, a good man, a good husband, and soon," She took his hand, placing it on her growing stomach. "You'll be a good father. Talk to the veterans, or my _farfar_. Something tells me you aren't the first hero to deal with this."

"I'll see what I can do, Rota. For now, let's go back to sleep."

…

Tomas entered the old building, filled with aging men, old uniforms, medals, and cheap beer. The youngest one there, Tomas quickly crutched his way to the table where his grandfather-in-law was drinking. As he sat down, he summoned his courage to tell the war hero what bothered him, as well as face the inevitable accusations of cowardice. Erik could read his face plain as day.

"Something troubles you, Tomas. What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, to be honest, I don't know. I have nightmares about the wolves, Erik. And I keep having these… panic attacks. Am I a coward?"

"No, no, _God no, _boy!" Erik placed his wrinkled, calloused hand on Tomas' shoulder. "Son, _every man _here has experienced that. I don't know why. We all felt shame, we all felt like cowards, because we kept it to ourselves. It wasn't until we read Jürgen's suicide note…" Erik stopped, pained by an old memory of a good man who couldn't take his pain anymore.

"That's when we started talking. If anything, _we _fucked up by not addressing it to you first."

"But I never heard about it before! If I'm like this at a mere thought, I would be helpless in a fight, I couldn't defend my family!"

"That's not how it works, son. Some of the guys here served full careers while suffering from the shakes. While they shook in quiet moments, they fought bravely when they had to. I think it's your body being too alert, too ready for danger. It doesn't make you a coward."

"Then why have I never heard about it?"

"Because, most civilians and non-combat soldiers don't understand. Officers who never had a whiff of grapeshot would call us, men who faced the Old Guard, cowards. They just don't get it."

As Tomas looked into his hands, Erik changed his approach.

"Hey, stop beating yourself up over it. I gave you permission to marry my only Granddaughter. I don't doubt for a fucking second that you'd face a thousand wolves to protect her and her child. They don't give _that-"_Erik jabbed at his Silver Crocus ribbon, "-to cowardly men. There is no shame in feeling fear. Courage is not the absence of fear, it's when you fight anyways."

"But most importantly, talk about it. Either to your wife, me, or anyone in here. It's the best medicine for what we suffer. I don't know why, it just is."

He nodded, feeling much better about himself. It was just what he needed to hear to get though the day. He looked at the clock.

_Time to get back to work._

Tomas thanked Erik, as he headed out and went to his place of work. Even though he had been offered desk jobs before, he had always felt that it was merely pity for an amputee, not because he was qualified for the position. That was until 2 weeks ago. He entered the building, sitting down at his desk, right before the building re-opened. In minutes, a pair of young men walked up to him, clutching a flyer and an application sheet.

"Sir, we want to join the Army!"

"Oh, that's always good. You boys have any idea of what branch?"

"Gebirgsjager, I heard they were the best!"

"Well, it's a good field, _I should know. _The 'Jagers made me the man I am today…"

And then Tomas did what he felt he was hired to do. As he filed the paperwork, he rotated his chair, making his missing leg plain as day for the new recruits. He wanted to make sure every boy who came her got a got sharp dose of reality of what they were signing up for. A perfect job for him.

He didn't know it yet, but he was on the road to fulfillment in life. He would come to truly love his job, helping hundreds of young men become proud professional soldiers. He would keep talking with the older veterans about his experiences, and as Erik said, it did heal. And in time he would conquer his demons, and be a full man, maybe not in body, but in spirit.

And it might not have happened, if he had not needed a new boot.

Happy Veteran's Day, to those who served.

Bit of Notes-

Believe it or not, this story nearly ended up as a single paragraph at the end of Faith and Duty. Then I decided I'd make a one-shot, and here we are. I felt it was a suitable thing to do for Veterans day. Now, to be honest, I feel a little guilty about trying to write from the perspective of a wounded veteran, one who likely has far greater demons than I have ever experienced.

However, that being said, I did not pull ANYTHING from my ass. Everything he experienced, from the "Wolf" in his bedroom, to the half-second panic attacks, I have also experienced. I am lucky. I have been trained and briefed on this. I know that PTSD is not a sign of cowardice. However, a few decades ago, let alone the 1840's, it _was _considered cowardice, unfortunately. Hence Tomas' dilemma.

I am not an expert on PTSD. I merely used my own minor experience with it to write a tribute to the men that war changed both mentally and physically. The men who fought in Vietnam, Korea, and WW2 and beyond. Men who fought earlier battles in Iraq and Afghanistan, before the war died down, before I got here. I am proud of my service, and my combat experience. But I fully feel that my service merely gave me a glimpse, a mere taste of the horrors almost every combat vet I know experienced.

My closing message is this. To everyone, support your veterans. To my fellow servicemen, who serve currently, I saw this. Whenever we come home, we are always welcomed and embraced by the Vietnam generation. Men who came home to hate and ridicule, and made sure no vet would ever come home and face such treatment, with at least some warm welcome. We need to repay these men, by carrying on their mission. When the next war comes, we must be there for them, like the Vietnam vets where there for us.

As for other stuff, Hans' Fate is rolling along, ungodly slow as always. Now that this is done, it's on to that. We finally get off of our 12 hour days by the end of the month, so hopefully mid-to-late December I'll begin posting the sequel(s) to Faith and Duty.

Glossary-

Farfar- Norwegian for Grandpa

The Old Guard- The longest serving soldiers in Napoleon's army, these men had served with him from the beginning. Easily considered some of the best soldiers in the World at the time. Better paid, clothed, equipped and trained, these men where extremely loyal to Napoleon. To face these men was the equivalent of fighting today's Rangers, VDV, or other premier Elite Infantry.


End file.
